arduous eleutheromania
by ultraviolets
Summary: — freedom can be crafted from broken pieces • for qlfc: round five • daphne greengrass and the treacherous search for love and liberty


_Before._

Daphne Greengrass had grown up suffocated by rules. _Sit up straighter, don't smile so widely, and for Merlin's sake, darling, don't fraternize with the Mudbloods, it's unseemly!_ Her mother would prattle on, and Daphne would nod along, though moments later it would all be forgotten as something interesting caught the young girl's eye, or Astoria made some witty comment, too soft for their mother too hear, and both girls would dissolve into laughter.

She was the first of them to receive her Hogwarts letter, of course, and she'd cradled the parchment in her hands, counting down the days. When her parents asked about her seemingly unfounded excitement, she was quick to wax poetic about how much she admired their skills with magic, and hoped to learn everything she could at Hogwarts in order to be _just like them._

But really, that was the last thing she wanted to be.

No, Daphne regarded her Hogwarts letter as though it was her saving grace because it meant that she might finally be _free._

* * *

 _Thirteen._

Freedom, it seemed, was supposed to taste like Pike's lips on hers. A quick, ephemeral thing — a peck on the lips before he flushed red and made to walk away, stuttering something unintelligible.

Daphne had heard a thousand times about first kisses from the hushed conversations the older girls had in the common room in the dead of the night. They spoke of it as though it was magic, as though the moment it happened lightning struck and fireworks exploded somewhere deep within.

As Pike stalked away, his profile illuminated by the flicker of candles that lit the dim corridor, Daphne waited.

Held her breath, counted to three, even opened her mouth as if to call him back.

 _Freedom._

This was it, her moment of exhilaration —

She was met with indifference.

She did not say another word to Pike.

Perhaps he'd mistaken her disinterest as nervousness, for the next day he was all soft, shy touches — tucking back a stray lock of her hair, brushing his fingertips against hers, perhaps waiting for her to say something of it.

Daphne couldn't think of a single word.

At least, until hours later. She spoke it without mercy or hesitation:

" _Goodbye."_

* * *

 _Fourteen._

" _Have you heard? Blaise Zabini broke up with Pansy Parkinson."_ The gossip floated past Daphne on her walk to Potions, the names uttered catching her attention.

She rather liked Blaise — he was intelligent, though quietly so, and his eyes were of the deepest obsidian, as though they held a thousand mysteries.

Those eyes caught her own at the Halloween feast sometime later, and the voice that came with them was cool and smooth, all honeyed words that Daphne allowed herself to get swept up in, until his arms were around her and all she could think about was the flame that had to have been starting to burn, now.

Perhaps Pike simply hadn't been the right person. But Blaise . . . maybe he was different.

And so she waited.

Waited for the spark to ignite, for that sweet, sweet liberation.

His lips captured hers somewhere between night and day, when she wasn't sure whether that was candlelight or sunlight aureately glimmering in her peripheral vision.

For Blaise, it seemed to be a starved, fervent thing, as he buried his fingers in her now haphazard updo, the heat of him almost unbearable. For Daphne, it was dispassionate, and her eyes remained open, landing on a nearby portrait and focusing there.

She let herself pull away this time.

There was much less deliberation, much less pondering.

And this time, not a single word.

She simply turned on her heel and walked away, her lips burning not with infatuation but the apology that remained unsaid. Whether it had been for Blaise, or herself, she did not know.

* * *

 _Fifteen._

Daphne herself was the subject of the gossip now, of the scandalized whispers and arched eyebrows that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

" _She left Zabini, can you believe that? And didn't even tell him why_ —"

" _Not to mention Pike, and she had him by third year. Who does she think she is?"_

Daphne lifted her chin, not saying a word.

Forget what they thought, what they said.

If she was lucky enough, word might reach home and she could add to her collection of disapproving letters from her mother.

That thought put a serene smile on her face as she dared a haughty glare to combat the particularly pompous look Theodore Nott was giving her.

He smiled back.

It was so unexpected that Daphne couldn't stop her lips from tugging up into a smile of her own.

For, she soon learned, Theodore was a storm of dark eyes that glimmered and a wicked, brooding sort of gaze. It was something that intrigued Daphne, how he looked upon their world as it fell to chaos, regarding it all with a quiet sort of interest.

But all of that tranquility would disappear when he was with her, when those eyes would be alight and his fingers intertwined with her own, bodies pressed close together as Daphne reminded herself over and over that this was what she wanted.

This was everything she'd thought of and dreamed of since her first year, this was the euphoria she so desperately craved.

Again and again she repeated it to herself, as she let her eyes flutter shut and tried to ignore the cold knot of apathy that had stubbornly settled in her chest.

But when Theodore wanted something more, when something far more intense shone in those eyes, it all fell apart at the seams, exposing Daphne's falsehoods and lies for all that they were.

"I can't. I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner, but — " she left the sentence unfinished, and those words were all she gave before she slipped away, not once looking back.

That cold feeling within her expanded until she was so frozen over it felt as though she could scarcely breathe. Frost, chilling her from the inside out, taking whatever bare hint of radiance that had sputtered to life within her and dousing it. Hardening, shifting, into something so piercing and sharp the ache of it was nearly palpable.

Hours later she reasoned with herself that at least her heart wasn't broken. Not like Pike's, or Blaise's, or now Theodore's. At least she was not shattered.

But perhaps, she countered, it would be better to have a fragmented heart than none at all.

After fifteen years of searching, it seemed she'd come up empty-handed.

* * *

 _Sixteen._

All Daphne had ever heard about Cho Chang was that she was a broken girl.

She wasn't sure when or why she'd started listening, but soon she'd found herself catching glimpses of her in the corridor, going out of her way to offer a kind formality, and trying to make sense of why exactly she felt a need to do all of these things.

She'd seen Cho for years, of course, but things had been different. Daphne had not yet frozen, and Cho, seemingly, had not yet broken.

But perhaps that was what made her all the more fascinating. Undeniably pretty, and, after hearing from numerous of Pansy's frequent recounts of the Hogwarts scandals regarding Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter, rather resilient.

There was a soft sort of boldness to her, to the way she walked, ignoring the looks that followed her, to the studious, intelligent brightness her eyes would hold as she read a textbook, or scripted notes on parchment, or simply gazed outside the window . . .

"What's your deal with Chang?" Pansy asked, voice dripping with disdain, one day during lunch. "You kept _staring_ at her all through Astronomy."

"What?" Daphne nearly dropped her fork. "Cho? I haven't — I mean, it's just —"

"Whatever, do what you want," Pansy drawled on. "Wouldn't be the worst thing the school has to say about you."

Her words stung, but Daphne was used to that with Pansy. She feigned nonchalance, though as soon as they'd dispersed for their free period Daphne finally let herself feel it —

A heartbeat. Racing, an erratic pattern, and there was an uncomfortable warmth to her face. Upon catching her reflection in a nearby window, she realized with a start that her cheeks had bloomed crimson, and the smile that graced her features was anything but falsified.

Deep within, Daphne swore she felt something flicker to life. A spark, a candle, whatever it might have been — but it was finally enough to begin thawing the ice that had overcome her for so long.

For the first time in years, Daphne let herself _feel._

* * *

 _After._

There were no dark eyes, no forced feelings. There was no dullness to this moment.

As Cho's lips met hers, Daphne dissolved into nothing but sensation.

This was it.

Freedom.

* * *

a/n: written for the quidditch league fanfiction competition, round five (word count: 1477)

(write a story inspired by the title of one of your chaser 2's fics: my dagger is made of broken hearts by victoria (conjectare))

optional prompts:

(object) candle  
(dialogue) "i should have told you sooner"  
(emotion) apathetic

thank you to shay and victoria for betaing!


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